


begging for love but you're old enough to better than you know

by r1ker



Category: The Nice Guys (2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 06:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6742516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r1ker/pseuds/r1ker





	1. Chapter 1

Jackson knows he's in way too deep the first time he sees a gun being held to Holland.

 

It's really a subdued affair, out in the open air with plenty of witnesses to reduce the factor of high stakes. He's standing close nearby with his own gun palmed in front of him in clear view. Like nothing he's ever felt before his heart races to the point of reverberating into his belly, sting of adrenaline biting at his veins and aching up through his arms and his chest.

 

Holland, completely unlike him, maintains his cool even while staring down the barrel of a nine-millimeter. Those eyes are completely focus, devoid of anything but intense concentration for the one with his life between two fingers. Behind the blue emerges black, a rapid animal ready to strike with likenesses unlike anything Jackson's ever seen his new partner have before. Still Holland makes no move to retaliate, crouch quickly to the ground to scoop up the gun he surrendered willingly under the guise of the criminal.

 

"Haven't been this close to a gun before without a bottle of gun oil in one hand," Holland mumbles to the person standing before him. The gun gets rotated around in the man's hand in contemplation of his next mood. Jackson can see even from a distance that the safety is off. Prior familiarity with the gunman reveals an explosive temper. Knowing Holland for a few months now knows he'd laugh his way into an early grave.

 

Jackson doesn't know who's closer to murder right now.

 

The aforementioned offender steps closer, closer to where the rounded opening of the gun's barrel grazes a shaven cheek and in his reverie Jackson nearly drops his own weapon. He'll have to buy Holland several drinks if this is ever over for the way he does not flinch at the feel of the cool metal against his skin. Holland's eyes do close at the man's gesture, perhaps contemplating a plan internally.

 

All Jackson knows is he's about to fucking lose it.

 

Jackson can hear his brain screaming. _Pick up the gun, you fucking idiot! Shoot him so I won't have to get this suit dry-cleaned._ Like Holland's got ESP he shakes his head in Jackson's direction. Chest deflating with a long exhale he uncurls his hands at his side and tilts his head away from the barrel slowly. It makes no effort to follow him and in this split second of tensions simmering away does he make his move. With a sudden lurch of his hand he grabs the wrist bearing the hand that wielded the gun and jerks it around and down.

 

What happens next is the most intricate takedown Jackson's ever had the pleasure of witnessing.

 

In a second Holland's knee is in the middle of the man's back as he's pinned to the sidewalk in blind heed of the screams of the frightened bystanders. The loud crack of a temple making contact with the asphalt rings out along with its possessor's startled cry, and Holland's noise of triumph in response to a plan he wasn't sure would work. Jackson shoos the crowd away with a series of wide hand gestures, hurries to Holland's side without thought. The gun skitters away in the melee and Jackson kicks it into a storm drain. Handcuffs are produced as the man is swept up and loaded with hands bound into the back of a patrol car summoned in the early stages of the standoff. Soon he and Holland are sitting in their parked car in the alleyway.

 

Jackson grips the steering wheel with the key waiting patiently in the ignition. Next to him sits Holland, dabbing at the cooling sweat on his forehead with a handkerchief. The air between them crackles with what's gone unsaid as to their communication. His heart can't stop pounding, stomach now roiling with nausea of how this could be him sitting alone in the car had Holland not been a horse's ass in how he dissolved the situation.

 

"I'm not going to sit here and tell you what you did was right," Jackson murmurs, searching fruitlessly into the limited distance for something to preoccupy himself with instead of looking at Holland. He should have been the one to put a bullet between the man's eyes, punish him not only for the spectacle he created for himself and others but for daring to bring a gun that close to Holland. Hell, it would have been more than just one if his service weapon had a say-so in the situation.

 

He'd counted the bullets before they set out on the beat that morning. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight in the chamber. Jackson wouldn't have lost sleep if all eight of them had ended up in that guy. Bullets are cheap. He has all the money a man of his age and profession could ever use over the course of a lifetime.

 

Holland is priceless.

 

"But you are going to nag me into oblivion by saying you should have been the one to take him down," Holland fires right back as he discards not so subtly of the soiled handkerchief. Jackson holds back the urge to hold him down against his seat and look him over for any injuries that might have occurred under his watchful eye. A sigh and Jackson can't help it; he turns around to face Holland and almost loses his breath at the expression the man's face holds.

 

Holland regards him with eyes still warmed over with that dark hue reserved for the one holding him at gunpoint. Still Jackson can see them beginning to soften around the edges, coming down from the high of grazing death's hand. Holland's nostrils flare with another sigh and he turns back around, much to Jackson's disappointment. He's not ashamed to say he could look at that face forever, until he lost sight of much of anything else not bearing those handsome features.

 

Jackson too lets out a breath. Though it's shortly past high noon here, he feels like he's been run ragged for miles with no promise of a break soon. He turns on the car to rumble softly against their mutual silence. The radio still plays with dulcet tones of _today and yesterday's finest hits._ A rustle and Holland is shedding his suit jacket, rolling up the crisp sleeves of his dress shirt.

 

If Jackson didn't know any better, didn't know how Holland could be poison when seen in this mood, he'd call the bastard a tease. Soon the articles are taken care of and Holland sighs as he can now feel the cool fabric of the bench seat against his back, worn damp in the summer heat.

 

"I wouldn't have just took him down, Holland," Jackson corrects his partner's previous statement with his own perspective on the issue. "I'd have destroyed him. Happily. If it meant the one that hurt you was just as beat up himself." And much to his surprise, Holland laughs. The gesture of amusement is nothing more than a huffed breath causing him to rear up on the palms of his hands to better meet Jackson's line of vision.

 

"You would've?" Holland inquires and Jackson can hear, and feel, the car turning off, someone's hand removing the key from the ignition. Between them the dividing console is thrown aside in favor of opening the seat for the both of them to share. A soft noise and Jackson feels a thigh brush against his, signaling the closeness Holland has chosen to take up.

 

He, however, does something different. The soft palm of his hand presses down high on Jackson's breast bone in order to feel that slowing drum of his heartbeat. Fingers trail up and the rest of his hand follows, cupping the side of Jackson's stubbled throat, feeling the accompanying pulse vibrate beneath. Holland himself leans closer and Jackson is at first taken aback at the feeling of a forehead, a nose pressing against his own features.

 

Narrowing his vision Jackson watches those eyes close, another sigh leaving Holland. The noise isn't one of pity and quickly Jackson can conclude it is satisfaction. It sounds tinged with a strange sort of contentment with knowing that they again survive to see another day. He can't argue at the sentiment. They haven't had many of these in the short time that they've known each other that the feeling is foreign to know that they've cheated death for what won't be the first time in however long this sideshow runs for.

 

"Would have and gotten the rid of the body the best I could." Holland chuckles, a low sound made deep in the back of his throat. All it does is make Jackson's arms prickle with goosebumps, and without thinking of the significance behind it he puts hands low on the small of Holland's back. Fortunately Holland says nothing, rather leans into his touch with that same sort of disregard made in light of rising affection.

 

"Sadly the only one you'll have to figure out what to do with is mine," and with this Jackson is kissed. Not two seconds into the gesture he raises several concerns. One of them being his neck is burning at this angle, tilting up to meet Holland's mouth to compensate for the height advantage Holland has forged as he settles in Jackson's lap. Instantly Jackson wants to sing his praise for just how _small_ Holland feels in his arms. It's like the two of them were proportioned for the other and again their size difference becomes apparent as Jackson gains control of the situation.

 

Holland's moan of triumph as Jackson grips his jaw with one hand is quickly swallowed. He fumbles behind them for the lever lowering down the bench seat and after this they slowly decline more into the back seat. Jackson huffs out a breath as he settles down lower in the car and Holland laughs, the airy smile beaming down at Jackson enough to make him shiver again.

 

"I'll ride you when I'm not at risk of getting upholstery burn," Holland advises and briefly a pang of disappointment passes over Jackson. That was what he was gunning for the second he shook Holland's hand, which now snakes down behind him to undo Jackson's pants. He could see it when he turned off the lights at night, could almost feel Holland's slightness encompassing him as if the rest of the world would come to a total stop in order for them to come together.

 

Instead, Jackson bites back a groan into the palm of his hand as Holland strokes his cock up, up against the swell of his ass and the dimple at the base of his spine. Jackson's never felt so warm in his life. For being a day in March the weather is mild but inside this car it's sweltering. There are fingertips at the crown of his cock that are teasing just beneath the head with the delicacy he had no clue Holland had stored in any bone in his body. Still Holland keeps his eyes on Jackson, never wavering even as his hand gains speed and precision in somehow knowing the exact way to bring Jackson to his wit's end.

 

Jackson's so stunned he can't think to reciprocate. One of his hands wraps large and warm near the end of Holland's rib cage, gripping him in a way to urge him on down the same path he goes down confidently. He struggles to breathe in it all, nearly fails in his effort to stave off his release. Soon it becomes inevitable that he's close, brought to the end faster than anyone else has ever had. Holland, at that moment, the instance Jackson's breath seizes up in his throat, folds himself at his middle to kiss Jackson once more.

 

This time Jackson is ready for it. He lets his jaw fall open more as Holland's tongue finds its way into his mouth, his hand curling just beneath his cock. And he comes on that silent cue. Holland makes a sound of earnest satisfaction as Jackson comes on him, the slope of his ass and trailing down the backs of his thighs given his current position. One of his own hands reaches down the front of his pants, undoing as much as he can to snake one to the front. Once, twice, three times he gropes himself and does the very same to Jackson, spilling onto his chest with a soft whine.

 

For a few breathless seconds they lie against each other, pressed chest to belly, legs in a messy tangle precariously close to the steering wheel. Jackson hears a raspy noise that could only be Holland's telltale laugh and he resists the urge to roll his eyes in response. The man's gotten laid in the car he pays notes monthly on, and even in this does he find his own strange brand of humor.

 

"What's so funny, huh?" he finally asks Holland, voice dimmed to be quiet and intimate for now the whole dynamic between them has changed all for the better. One of his hands strokes at the back of Holland's head and catches on hair slightly damp with sweat. Holland again smiles at him but softer. He presses his nose to Jackson's temple. Jackson can feel his head shake for some strange reason and he holds back the urge to ask why.

 

"I took you down." Bastard.


	2. Chapter 2

And, as Jackson would have it, Holland makes good on that riding promise.

 

They're back at what could be the fifth hotel room they've shared together in the past few weeks and Jackson lies on his back on the queen-sized bed. The two had gotten a strange look for requesting just one room with one bed, out of the need to drive down cost, but something in Jackson told him this was bound to happen at some point or another. The bed was just a deciding factor.

 

This being Holland sitting upright in his lap with his ass flush against Jackson's groin. The feel and the pressure are incredible, not nearly at all like Jackson could have ever imagined in the split second they came together in the car. He can let his hands wander more here, glide smoothly over skin blooming in some areas with vivid tattoos, pass over where some untouched by ink is speckled with unexpected freckles.

 

If they weren't doing this right now Jackson would have Holland on his back instead, spread out so that he could see all of him instead of the limited view their current position provides. There he'd see all the tattoos, all the imperfections expected of skin and the scars a job like this provides its employees, and in this he'd know Holland through and through. Still, despite his desire for a more visual experience, the auditory one he's getting right now is more than enough.

 

Holland's voice has been long gone at this point. Any of the noises he makes are strangled groans following hard swallows Jackson can watch. In the beginning Jackson had held one hand close to his mouth to dull down the sounds – after all, this isn't the ritziest hotels and walls are thin – but now he cant bring it upon himself to stop them from escaping into the air.

 

Jackson keeps one of his hands close within Holland's. He hopes this is some way of grounding him because, as Jackson knows very well from being on the receiving end of things like this, the feeling can be enough to send you out of your body. He could never define it on paper, point it out in a lineup or recite it by rote, but sex was always transcendental to him. That was maybe the best part of it, stepping aside from all that's caused you anything other than peace and escaping it with someone equally as wound up as you are.

 

And he could think of no other person to do this with than Holland. God, looking up at him like this and he's smitten without meaning to be. It's not just the climax already beginning to pool low in his belly or the way his foot twitches against the sheets as Holland fucks down onto him. Or the way Holland's sounds go throatier, more like they're being shoved out of him each time Jackson's cock grazes his prostate.

 

Part of him can see them doing this outside of the carnal nature of it. In an instant he can envision being back in Jackson's apartment in L.A., himself draped over Holland in bed early in the morning before work is ever a thought. Maybe sleeping sometimes, maybe switching this current position so that Jackson all but lounges over him as he thrusts into him, paying no mind to time ticking away.

Holland, meanwhile, makes a little sound that faintly comes out as _uh_ and Jackson looks up at him again. He's stopped moving, ceased his rhythmic drive. For a second Jackson thinks something's wrong but he sees Holland looking at him. That hand that was resisting the urge to jerk his own cock presses softly against Jackson's cheek. His eyes flutter shut and his hips rise up, up almost to where Jackson is in danger of slipping out.

 

Jackson makes a noise as the absence Holland leaves behind is almost too much to bear in this moment. God he aches, hurts down to his very core no longer in the presence of that snug, warm fit. Slowly Holland arches his back, braces his hands further up on the pillow just above Jackson's head, and lowers himself down slower, slower. He repeats this several times, and the sounds that follow are music to Jackson's ears. Holland sounds like he's dying of it, like every thrust up and down pushes him closer and closer to an edge.

 

"You're killing me," Jackson rasps out and briefly the statement doesn't register to him. It rings out crystal clear to Holland, who picks up the pace but doesn't falter in the entirety of the thrusts. They follow through, down and up and back again in a rhythm similar to the last. After a while he can't take it anymore. He grips tight at Holland's ass with both hands, tries manually to get him to move faster. Thankfully Holland goes along with what Jackson has in mind.

 

Not only does he obey, he sounds downright _pleased_ with it.

 

Jackson makes him sit up and they rearrange themselves on the bed. Now Holland sits more in his lap instead of sitting atop him and he hooks his shoulders high up on Jackson's rib cage. This is perhaps better than the original, because here Jackson can kiss him within an inch of his life, hands roaming up the inked skin of his back and moving into the hair curling damply at the nape of his neck. Again the two of them stop. Holland pulls away from him far enough to pant softly with an indulgent smile on his face.

 

Jackson is so taken aback by just how satisfied he looks that what he says next doesn't pass through a strategically formulated filter. "Goddamn, I love you." He shuts his eyes on reflex and tilts his head away, the buzz from the emotionally disassociated high fading away quickly. A sigh and he's getting ready to free himself from Holland, finish off this little affair in the bathroom himself, but Holland won't budge.

 

Holland's knees steady himself against Jackson and he finishes off his ride, having not been jaded at all by that statement. Arms wrapping around his neck he brings Jackson to a startled orgasm, damn near wringing its way out of him. This time around Holland kisses him, swallows any sounds he could make as bolts of pleasure spiral dizzyingly up and down his spine.

 

When Jackson looks at him again, not even knowing he'd even closed his eyes, and finds Holland heaving for breath, come spreading between them and up his own chest. He checks to make sure his hand isn't ruined before he cups Holland's cheek again. They move apart for good this time and settle down on the bed again, turned on their sides to face each other. Despite what was said Holland doesn't shy away from Jackson. In fact he sidles up close to Jackson's shoulder, pressing his forehead to the sharpest part of it, taking in a deep breath.

 

"You know, it's fine, what you said," Holland murmurs and rests his chin on Jackson's shoulder. The ceiling fan overhead oscillates slowly and Jackson watches it, lets Holland manipulate his body to where he can lie atop him. His hair tickles Jackson's nose. Jackson can smell him on him, can pick up on notes of his own cologne and cheap bar soap they'd passed back and forth in the shower that morning. "Perfectly fine for how compromised you were. Either way." Jackson won't ever inquire as to the meaning of the last part but he waits to hear what Holland's got to say next, because seeing as how his mouth remains parted like more words are to be anticipated it's worth it.

 

"Sex makes you loopy, doesn't it?" Holland takes his face in his hands and from that instance their gazes don't leave the other's. His hands turn Jackson's face from side to side, looking for anything that might be suspicious. Finally one of his hands pats Jackson's cheek softly and he flops back down onto the bed with a sigh. "That's okay. Even if it meant me going through hoops, it's still great sex. So."

 

"Well, I'm glad to know I can keep the spirit alive in the bedroom," Jackson grumbles as he becomes all too aware at just how nude they both are. They both lounge in the bed long after it's become socially acceptable and Holland is the one to wave him into the bathroom, huddle up close next to him in the shower. There Holland kisses him once, twice, between passes of bar soap and complementary small bottles of shampoo. Each time Jackson doesn't hesitate to return the favor, and perhaps what he said does in fact hold a candle to what is happening in front of him right now.

 

Holland wasn't wrong. The sex was great. Maybe what follows would be too.


End file.
